Photograph
Reaching into the greased stained bag, brown and crumpled, I pulled out a napkin to wipe the mayonnaise and ketchup from the corner of my mouth. The last of the Coke gurgled through the straw and I shook the cup as if anymore cola might be hiding in the ice cubes. The Baconator, I had never heard of such a burger but that’s what the receipt still taped to the bag said: 1 Baconator, 1 L Coke, 1 L Fry. I remembered them being cheaper too. Regardless it made for the best meal I’d had in six years, maybe my whole life. I just ate that burger, coke and fries and tried to forget things. Later on the preacher came in and we sat and prayed. I never was much of a religious man and didn’t have a particular fondness a god or nothing. But I hadn’t had much company over the years so when they asked me if I wanted to see the preacher before the time come I said that’d be alright. We asked for god’s forgiveness even though I wasn’t sure I deserved it, or if I’d of even wanted it if he’d give it to me. Nothings gonna change how I’ve come to think about things, about myself. I did a lot of thinking lying on that cot staring at the ceiling, gray and cold. I was still doing some of it when they came and told me the time had come.
We took baby steps as the chains clinked and clanked around my feet. I thought it was silly they made me wear ‘em. There was only one direction to run and I sure wasn’t in any hurry to get there. When we got to the room the bed sat in the center. It didn’t look as comfortable as my gray and white striped cot. They led me over to it and took off the handcuffs and I got up on the bed and laid down. They tightened the leather straps and I lay there crucified on the bed, with needles in both arms and the beeping. Warden asked me if I had anything to say and I just pursed my lips and shook my head no. There was no one here I wanted to say it to.
“Okay,” the Warden said nodding his head at them. I can see myself in the reflection of the one sided window. I wonder how many people came to watch me go. It’s their turn now. It’s not like I picture it’d be. My life isn’t flashing before my very eyes as the warm and tingly feeling is making its way to my toes now. I turn my head to the left and watch my heart’s pulse move across the screen. And all at once a wave of cold comes over me. I want to ask for a blanket or something but my tongue feels like a wet sponge. Soaked up with all the things I never said. And will never get to say. I love you son. Don’t grow up to be like your old man. He doesn’t know who his old man is. I wrote him every week. Then I got all the letters back. That was her present to me. To let me know I was as alone then as I am now. Tears are streaming out of the sides of my eyes. I want to be a boy again crying in his own bed, dinosaur sheets, waiting for momma to come wipe the tears from my eyes and tell me everything is going to be alright. The beeping begins to fade away lost in the ringing in my ears. My boy, my beautiful boy, my son; 17 but to me still that smiling eight year old in the wrinkled photograph clutching my chest pocket. All I’ve ever known lost.
